


Empty Spaces

by metrophobic



Series: Troubled By the Way We Came Together [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Fist Fights, Fumbling D/s Experimentation, Light Bondage, M/M, Mention of Underage Sexuality, Non-Linear Series, Parallel Narrative, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:05:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3213566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metrophobic/pseuds/metrophobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tweek shatters Craig's expectations by jumping his bones one night, after an adolescence spent under innocent shelter. Craig can't get enough of him, but he's also quickly realizing he doesn't really understand him or his proclivities, and that's not an easy epiphany to bear the weight of. Especially when his experiences are so refreshingly boring, and Tweek seems to know too much, only gradually letting him see behind the wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nice and Boring

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in years, and the first fic I've ever written for this fandom. So! I hope it's okay. This was inspired by a random ancient kink meme prompt for "spanking Tweek to orgasm" and it still is, it's just developed some kind of plot around it. It is also a two-parter!

Craig wasn't particularly sure when things began to change. For many years their relationship had sustained him. Tweek's parents were either open-minded or oblivious—he could never really quite tell the difference—and didn't seem to mind the nights he'd come home with Tweek after school, not leaving until school the next morning, with him. Or even the nights he'd turn up at some point when the sun had already disappeared behind the trees and it was far too cold and dark for anyone to be outside without a coat, but he'd left in a hurry and didn't want to turn back.

The first time this happened, it was around 10:30pm on a Tuesday night. Tweek had been the one to answer the door, in fact, in an off-white apron marred with stains and patches of wet. They were both around twelve and while Craig had hit his growth spurt and his voice had started to lower, Tweek had yet to follow. There was a moment of tense silence as they stared at each other, Tweek's hands shaking violently where they rested against the edge of the door, Craig in a thin hoodie that didn't do much against the cold at all. Some animal or night-bird crooned ominously in the distance, and Tweek's large eyes got even wider.

"What are you doing here, man!?" he practically yelped, his line of sight shifting to some unseen point beyond Craig's shoulder. "It's the middle of the night!"

"No it isn't."

Tweek made some kind of twitchy noise and pulled back, leaving room for Craig to cross the threshold. "Get in here before it gets you!"

He had no idea what the Hell Tweek was even talking about, but Craig walked inside anyway. The door slammed shut behind him and he wondered if Tweek's parents would be angry, but they never came. Something pleasant and warm and faintly sweet-smelling wafted from the kitchen, along with a hissing sound, and Tweek was already hurrying back in that direction. It wasn't until Craig followed him that he discovered the noise was just the sink running, suds practically spilling over its sides. He saw his reflection in every fat bubble, like an insect's eyes. There were dishes piled on the side.

"Baking," he intoned, as if confirming the goings-on for himself, and asked flatly, "Why are you baking in the middle of the night."

" _Ngh!_ It's for tomorrow! We have to make all the treats the night before!" Craig wasn't quite sure who _we_ was supposed to be, because he didn't see Tweek's parents anywhere. He shrugged, accepting this explanation anyway.

"Can I lick the spoon."

Tweek shoved it at him without a word, nearly dropping it in the process, but Craig was quicker than him and caught the utensil before it had a chance to hit the floor. When the cookies and pastries for the shop were done around half an hour later, he helped Tweek carefully wrap them up, the plastic sky-blue bin that would house them sitting on the table beside them. Partway through, without even asking, Craig reached for one of the muffins to sample it himself. Tweek was surprisingly intuitive, perhaps because of the way Craig had snatched it up instead of handling it with the gentle care they had the rest, and he grabbed his wrist to stop him.

" _Nrgh_ \- no! Those are for tomorrow!"

"I want to try one." Craig stared down at him, but he didn't dislodge from Tweek's grip.

"You only get to do that if— _gah!—_ one of them breaks! Or falls on the floor!"

Craig glanced down at his feet. The tile was pretty immaculate. The Tweaks always seemed to keep a clean house, especially the kitchen. He looked Tweek right in the eyes and yanked his hand away with a great deal of force. The muffin tumbled out of his fingers and plopped heavily to the ground. "Oops."

Tweek said nothing, only let his eyes nervously dart back and forth between Craig's empty hand and the pastry on the floor. Craig bent down to pick it up, brushed it off and promptly broke it in half, passing the larger of the two pieces to his friend. Tweek jerked a little in his seat with another of his odd little noises, but accepted it without question. The muffin was still warm and crumbled apart at Craig's touch, forcing him to pinch off a chunk of it and bring it to his mouth. Tweek watched him as he chewed, shivering in his chair as if he were cold, though everyone knew by now that he could never hold still for any length of time. Craig didn't say anything about its quality, only made a sort of "mm" noise before reaching for another bite.

A wide grin spread across Tweek's face, one that showed his teeth. Craig knew that he knew. These smiles were rare in him; Craig couldn't remember ever seeing them at school, but even in their elementary years they'd occasionally come out when they played together at the park or one of their houses. They ate in comfortable silence, only occasionally broken by one of Tweek's tics, something that Craig had come to expect in him as much as he would from a guinea pig.

When it was time for bed Tweek let him come up without any questions asked. With how clean the rest of the house was it always amused him how Tweek's bedroom was so messy. Not in a trashy or disgusting manner: it was just disorganized and cluttered whenever Craig saw it, like Tweek had pulled everything out in a hurry to find the one important thing he needed at that point in time. When they laid next to each other and the lights were off Craig could feel Tweek twitching and shaking beside him, though his hands were pressed over his mouth. After some time of this Craig finally grew annoyed enough in that tired, kept-from-sleep manner to grumble at him, "what are you doing?"

"Ah! I'm sorry!" Tweek answered as he pulled his hands back. "It takes me forever to fall asleep— _nnn_  I was trying to keep quiet!"

"It's not working."

"Sorry! Ngh, I'm not used to this! D-do you want the bed? I can move to the floor or— _gah_ , I don't know!"

Craig was reminded then of how he would calm Stripe down when he was extra jittery, or even when he'd have his small companion lull him to sleep, curled up on his chest softly warbling away until they both inevitably drifted off. "You can shut up," Craig replied flatly, reaching out and pulling Tweek closer to him. He knew he couldn't actually have Tweek lie on top of his chest, even if he _was_ smaller than him— that'd be stupid. Instead he wrapped his arms around Tweek like he was a stuffed animal or something, burying him into his chest, both of them on their side.

Tweek was still twitching and trying to keep his verbal tics to a minimum, his voice now muffled by Craig's body instead of his own hands. "Ngh-! What are you doing?" He didn't fight it, but the confusion was clear in his voice.

"I told you to be quiet."

Tweek really did remind him of a guinea pig, Craig thought, and felt his throat tighten at the sudden reminder of what he'd have to come home to after school tomorrow: Stripe's aquarium, the bag of shavings sitting on the table beside it, the half-full water bottle and the dish that still held his food pellets and bits of dried vegetable. Everything in its place, everything undisturbed, as it should be. But for the first time, Stripe wouldn't be there.

That was when he was selfish like that for the first time; keeping Tweek curled up against him while he stroked his hair and tried to pretend it was the fat little body of his first pet. It was actually Tweek who fell asleep first, but Craig knew he was in this for himself, and his grasp didn't slacken until he, too, finally drifted off in the dark hours of the morning.

 

* * *

 

It continued for years after that, as they grew, and Tweek eventually got taller than Craig, even. Not by much—barely an inch—but it still took an inch off Craig's pride, too. His dad was built like a fucking linebacker, and Craig had that stockiness to him that, thankfully, was more muscle and bone than fat; but it seemed that the men on his mother's side were average, since that was all he got in the height department. He supposed it made a little sense. He was average too, and saw no reason to change that, never had.

Luckily—or perhaps not so much after all—Tweek's parents' ill treatment of him left him rail-thin and soft around the edges, so it didn't matter. Or at least that was what Craig convinced himself Tweek possessed, because when he'd slip in on those nights he wanted there to be some kind of vulnerability left in him. That was what brought Craig there, after all, even though the consistent neglect had taught Tweek more than enough how to take care of himself. It felt better, somehow, to know that he was bringing some form of stability in his life. But Craig knew deep down that it was really just for himself, this ache for some kind of warmth and the pleasant thrill he got from having something to nurture, care for. Tweek still had trouble sleeping.

And for him, it seemed more a place of comfort rather than safety. Medication and maturity had left him a little more complacent, though there were things in him that could still never be quelled. Even if he tried his damnedest to hide them, Craig could sense them. He wanted to believe he was the only person who noticed, since they spent the most time together, but who knows? Tweek didn't need him, he never really did, but he _wanted_ Craig's presence there and that should have been enough. It wasn't, of course, but Craig couldn't let that on.

Craig would sit on the bed and watch him undress, stare at the little knobby shadows of his spine and the white wings of his shoulderblades, and... do absolutely nothing. They always slept together in chaste tranquility. He was too much of a coward to try anything, not even kiss. Somewhere down the line over the years he figured out that he really, really _wanted_ to. But he didn't cross that barrier, not even on the nights where Tweek would lie there and stare at him instead of pressing his face into his chest and settling. Craig usually did it for him, finally pushing his head closer and hooking an arm around him, unable to handle the quiet judgment— no matter how kind. _What do you want from me_ , he would say, but not aloud. Tweek always laughed quietly into his chest, like this was some sort of game to him.

Except one night. They were seventeen at that point, seniors in high school, taking up the same spaces in each others' lives as they had for nearly a decade. It wasn't uncommon for their peer group to converge at someone's house on a Friday night, because what else was there to do in this shitty town, really? Unless one wanted to drive out to Denver, but some matters of convenience were simply easier than others. This one wasn't a kickback; there were so many bodies that seemed to swallow up what little coloured light was afforded in each room. He'd come on his own; the raucous parties filled with connections and strangers weren't really Tweek's scene. They weren't really Craig's either; he was reminded of that fact when the small group he'd been conversing with migrated into the living room and knelt by the coffee table while he watched. He'd partake whenever a joint was passed around, certainly, but when the girl who was chatting him up grabbed his wrist and gestured invitingly at a bump he shook his head, pulled his hand back with no small measure of annoyance written on his face.

He turned and walked toward the kitchen for another drink, stumbling a little in surprise when he nearly ran into someone's bony form on the way there. Tweek. He knew it immediately, had gotten unbelievably used to his body even when they did nothing but lie against one another. Craig's stomach churned with something like jealousy, which didn't really make any sense, and he put his best face forward: the one that never revealed anything.

" _What_."

 _What are you doing here_ was what he'd meant to say, but the question sounded more accusatory than Craig would have liked, so the words stilled in his throat. It was almost like Tweek didn't hear him, anyway, staring at him with wide glossy eyes and reaching out to grip his shoulder.

"Craig," he hissed, in a voice that sounded hoarse and childish at once and reflected every bit of the raw desperation in his face, vaguely reminding Craig of their elementary school days. " _Get me out of here._ "

He didn't need to be told twice, truly. Sighing like this was some great inconvenience to him and Tweek better damn well be grateful for dragging him away, Craig looped an arm around Tweek's heaving shoulders and ushered him out without a word. Once they were on the lawn Tweek stopped abruptly and looked back; he bit the ends of his fingers and dragged them over his chin, a nervous gesture. "God," he whispered. His face was ashen. "Oh, god."

Worry filled Craig's chest and threatened to squeeze the air from his throat, but none of that happened, really. He just didn't know or understand what the Hell was going on, and Tweek's flightiness was infectious. A few people stared at them as Craig caught hold of his friend's wrist and pulled him back, back toward his car. Tweek stumbled along and had to grab Craig's arm for support, his fingertips (which were always raw and stubby from constant picking and biting) digging in hard. But he didn't seem drunk. Tweek never really seemed to care for it; the couple of times he got drunk at Token or Clyde's kickbacks, he confessed to Craig in the morning that he wished he hadn't. He always felt like his feet were coming off the ground, he said, and that there was something heavy in his chest, crushing everything down into his stomach. That everything washed all his colours out, or something along those lines—whatever that meant. Sometimes Tweek said strange shit that Craig didn't know how to take, because there wasn't even a face value to go on.

 _What the Hell did you do!?_ Craig wished he had the balls to shout at him, unlocking the car with some irritation and guiding Tweek inside with a gentleness that felt more grounding than any suspicions he could have laid to rest, anyhow. Tweek pushed his face into his hands and groaned, gripping at his hair. Craig shut the door without a word and slid into the driver's seat.

"It was just some dumb thing with everyone doing coke," he said as he pulled off from the curb, even though Tweek hadn't apologized nor looked for any sort of reassurance that he hadn't actually pissed Craig off. The concern that had clawed at him was slowly melting into a strange sense of elation, which Craig only vaguely felt guilty for. He hadn't seen Tweek like this in some time, his fitful sleeps and general everyday tics notwithstanding. Something had gotten to him, and it was Craig he'd sought out—or, at least, he was the first familiar face he'd reached toward.

"I thought I could handle it," Tweek mumbled into his hands, and turned his gaze out the window. He flattened a palm against it and slowly curled his fingers inward, the pads of them squeaking against the cold glass. "I thought I could handle it."

"Handle what?" Craig ground out.

But Tweek didn't answer him, falling into a tense silence that was occasionally broken by his strange little vocal tics. They still reminded Craig of a guinea pig. It was only when they turned onto his street that Tweek started and whipped around to face Craig, grabbing at his thigh to get his attention. "Not my house!"

"What—"

"Yours. Your place. I can't— just. _Please._ " Tweek's teeth were chattering like he was cold, and he ground them together, seemingly unable to look Craig in the face as he begged him to change course.

"You want to go to my house," Craig repeated. "And you're deciding this right now. You couldn't have told me that before I started driving." He was already turning around, though. Craig was a little worried about what his parents would say about him bringing a guest back this late, but he was concerned enough about Tweek's apparently-fraying mental state to chance it.

It was actually a little after 2:00 AM, and the house was pitch dark. Craig pulled into the driveway, briefly considered the merits of slipping in through the garage, then decided against it. The noise of the door opening might have alerted someone, and he wasn't actually allowed to stay out this late. He carefully turned the key in the front door, bringing a hand up to Tweek's mouth when he made some kind of whining sound, probably not on purpose.

"Be quiet," he whispered, though there was a hard edge to his words. Tweek nodded once, and Craig could feel his teeth gritting behind the press of his hand. It was dark inside, everyone having clearly turned in, and Craig's heart was in his throat as he guided Tweek up the stairs. They moved slowly, perhaps a bit too cautiously, and yet he was afraid lingering would give them away too. The fear that Tweek would flinch too hard or stumble was a present one, though, almost overwhelming. But none of this happened, especially not when Tweek gripped at him tightly halfway up the stairs and wouldn't let go. It was probably for the better that he didn't, anyway.

Those few minutes seemed to stretch on into eternity, but the entity that Craig and Tweek somehow tangled themselves into finally made it past the threshold of Craig's bedroom door, and then they were inside, and both of them could breathe again. Tweek was already pulling off his shirt when Craig locked the door behind them, though when it dropped to the floor he sort of just stood there with his hands balled into fists at his sides, breathing out like he'd just ran the whole way by himself. The illumination from the street made his skin glow in a way that was sort of creepy, but Craig didn't dare to flick the light on. Instead, he sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his jacket.

"So I guess you're not going to tell me what happened."

Tweek didn't answer him. From the hutch in the corner of Craig's room there was a soft squeak and then some warbling; the commotion had woken up Vanilla Bean and Mocha (Tweek wasn't any better at names than Craig), and they made their dissatisfaction known. But it was the creature outside his cage that had all of Craig's attention; one that had become a stray, apparently, taken in like another pet. And Tweek finally ventured over to him, settling next to Craig on the bed, reaching down to undo both their shoes. Craig said nothing else, either, only pushed out another annoyed sigh like he'd done at the party. He kicked off his sneakers when Tweek finished fiddling with their laces and willed himself not to force the question, if for only his own sake of dignity. He knew he'd heard him.

Of course, what Craig _hadn't_ known about nor anticipated was the feeling of bony cold hands at his jaw, and then a comparatively-hot mouth up against his.

For a couple of seconds, Craig was frozen in place. He hadn't even shut his eyes, although everything was a dark blur anyway. It was when Tweek's tongue pressed past his lips that he grunted and grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him back.

"What the Hell—"

Half of that confusion was swallowed whole, because Tweek hadn't even given himself time to be mortified the way Craig was; he kissed him again, this time with a hand twisting into the thin fabric of Craig's t-shirt. Craig's hands were shaking in a way that could have given Tweek's perpetual restlessness a run for its money, gripping tight at his smooth naked shoulders where they hadn't left. This time when Tweek took it further he was slightly more prepared for it, both of them lapping at each other's mouths, only daring to make the softest of sounds. Craig had expected him to taste like coffee—since, even now, it seemed to be all Tweek ever consumed—but there wasn't any of it, nor any trace of the familiar bitterness of alcohol, removing any remaining sense that Tweek might have been drunk after all.

Somehow they'd managed to find themselves on the bed, Craig on his back but propping himself up a little, Tweek straddling on top of him. His hand was pressed firm to Craig's chest but then it was gone, pulling his shirt up instead until his stomach was exposed. Craig felt himself tense when the blunt edges of Tweek's fingers traced over the line of dark hair under his navel, and then they were yanking his jeans open.

This was moving so, so fast. Craig's head was swimming; he wondered if this was a dream, because he wouldn't have imagined _Tweek_ of all people to be holding the reins on this... whatever _this_ was supposed to be. He yanked his head back and grabbed at Tweek's wrists, gasping for air and feeling a little stupid. "Hey," Craig started, then realized he didn't know what he was actually going to say. "Cut it out," he finally managed. He tried to see if Tweek's expression would tell him anything, dim and shapeless as it was through the sliver of light that made it in, but his face seemed so gaunt and hollow in the shadows that Craig didn't want to look anymore. Then Tweek actually smiled, he realized, and there was so much warm familiarity in the gesture that all Craig could do was pull him closer.

This time it was Craig who kissed _him_ , and Tweek evidently took that as some sign to continue, because he pulled down the zipper of Craig's pants and worked his hand into them. Craig grunted when he felt Tweek's fingers on his dick, working it through the slit of his boxers and the open space of his jeans. He was like any typical teenage boy; it was only the veil of confusion and uncertainty that kept him merely half-hard, but Tweek apparently had a solution for that. His fingers felt warmer, now, as they jacked him slowly a couple of times before the weight atop Craig's chest was gone and he vaguely realized that Tweek wasn't kissing him anymore, either, because he was ducking down between his thighs. Nearly choking when he felt that first breath on the head of his cock, Craig tried to grab at Tweek's shoulder again to stop him, though he couldn't figure what he was doing very well and accidentally grabbed some of his hair along the way. Tweek hissed in something akin to pain, and yet not quite, and Craig felt the answering throb.

"What the Hell," Craig ground out, again. Tweek snatched Craig's hand away and said nothing, but then he was going down on him, and Craig had to be the one to clench his jaw before he did something stupid like call out in surprise. He was no virgin, having lost it the summer before this year, and done it on a few occasions since then. But this was Tweek, not some fumbling tryst with an expiration date, not some exercise in teenage exploration and he had no clue what the Hell he was doing. This felt so much more charged than the rest, more _adult_ , somehow; yet not in the way that was exciting and powerful. It almost hurt, really, scraping at his chest even as he grew heavy and hard in his friend's mouth. Then it was over and Tweek was sitting up again, leaning over him, pulling the drawer of his nightstand open—what was he _doing?—_ Craig groaned out his confusion and shut his eyes. _Sure, just get whatever you want, go right ahead_ his mind echoed sarcastically, but he couldn't even begin to get the words out.

It wasn't until he heard the familiar rustle of foil and then something being rolled over the head of his dick all the way down that Craig's brain started to catch up with him, again, and his breath caught in his throat. "No, hey—" he choked out, reaching for Tweek's skin, _somehow_ , anything of him, but he was out of reach and there was the muffled sound of clothing cast to the floor. This was definitely moving way too fast, spinning so far out of reality that Craig almost forgot he was in his bedroom in the first place. He suddenly sat up straight, and Tweek seemed to follow suit, sitting cross-legged in front of him. Neither of them could fully look at each other, even though it was entirely necessary.

"What," Craig started, punctuating the word as if it were a statement and a question all entirely by itself. "Is going on?"

Tweek said nothing at first, only pressed his hands to his face, and for one bleak mortifying moment Craig actually thought he was going to cry even though he had never seen him do so before. "Jesus," he finally answered, and his voice sounded no different than it had at the party. Hoarse, a little stricken, but in no danger of breaking. Craig couldn't see well enough in the dark but he imagined Tweek was probably clutching at his own scalp. "Is this your first time?"

 _That_ threw Craig for a loop, again, since he'd expected some kind of meek self-depreciating apology. Perhaps even hoped for one, so he could smooth those worries away, somehow. "Uh," he managed, and glanced down at his dick, still wearing its rubber and still quite hard. "No."

" _Auugh._ " Tweek yipped out involuntarily, and then chewed at his lip, casting a glance at the door in case someone might have heard. Craig felt that same flash of fear, but his walls weren't all that thin. "I meant with another guy!" He pulled his hands to his mouth halfway through that bit of clarification, and Craig knew it wasn't so much out of shyness but because he didn't want to be overheard. It was still endearing anyway, and Craig quickly realized that he wished it had been the former, because Tweek's hungry confidence in this situation could only really mean one thing when it came to the matter of his _own_ experience.

"No," Craig said again, and when Tweek dropped his hands in shock he reached for them with a gentleness that surprised himself. Craig realized then with a sinking, hollow feeling in his gut that Tweek was having the same epiphany: in all their moments together, they never revealed this intimate part of their lives, never discussed it. Should they have, though? Craig never bared his soul to anyone; he never really liked girls to begin with, and the pieces just fell where they should have. These things just happened. They probably happened for Tweek the same way. So why did he feel like sections of himself were being carved out, as if to make way for something new and unfamiliar? The sigh that escaped Craig sounded more resigned and melancholy than he would have liked, and he pulled one of Tweek's arms up around his shoulders, testing him.

Whatever ice that had started to form between them seemed to crack, because they were close again, on each other again. Tweek was straddling him yet he wasn't sitting up anymore; he was bent forward until his face was pressed into Craig's shoulder, whining low in his throat as he pulled him inside. Craig forgot to breathe then, clutching at Tweek for dear life, probably shaking harder than he was. No— Tweek wasn't shaking at all, after a moment, his hands grasping at Craig's sides.

"It's okay," Craig mumbled, cupping a hand against the back of Tweek's head, feeling helpless. "You're okay." But it was to himself, he realized, not Tweek at all—and he wished it could have been. Neither of them said anything else, only breathed hard against one another in an achingly empty room, Craig grinding up arrhythmically as Tweek rode his hips in a crushing mixture of hesitation and desperation. Craig's chest felt too hollow for him to feel much of anything else until he finally gave in and pushed Tweek over, onto his chest, pulling his hips back and actually fucking him from behind.

It was surprising; even with their mutual fear of being heard by one of the other occupants in the house, Craig expected Tweek to be a lot noisier. Yet he'd only pushed his face into the pillow, not making a single noise except for when he drew his spine up and clenched around the place where Craig had him, whimpering a few times. Craig hadn't beaten him off and he didn't see Tweek's hand moving between his legs—weren't they clutching at the sheets?—but he could tell he'd somehow gotten off anyway. Tweek was quiet and still when Craig finished, panting hard against his shoulder before easing out and throwing the filled condom away. It was a strange awareness he could recall only feeling once before, when he lost his virginity to some guy he met at a party and ended up seeing for nearly a month afterwards: the disgusting yet strangely fascinating feel of his own warm semen in his hand, in its little slippery rubber packaging, a relic of what had just transpired.

When Craig approached the bed again he thought Tweek had already fallen asleep, but then Tweek exhaled like he'd been holding the air back in his lungs all this time, and reached for his boxers. Craig didn't know what to say to him, and Tweek offered nothing. They ended up lying in the quiet on their sides, facing away from each other, Craig still in his clothes and Tweek having pulled his boxers back on. It was Tweek who drifted away first, almost immediately. Craig's dreams stayed right on the surface yet remained forgotten, even the slightest stirring from his guinea pigs' cage jolting him awake.

The morning left him with a sickness greater than any hangover, and as Craig stumbled his way into the shower and pulled off all his clothes he felt vaguely loose and wooden. Like he'd been controlled by something else since they stepped into his house, worn fingers pulling at the frayed strings of him and making him do these things. None of the people he'd been with before last night were his friends. You don't fuck your friends. Tweek probably wouldn't even have an explanation for it. It was like pulling teeth to get him to justify the things he did, the ways he felt, and that was just as frustrating to Craig as it was utterly captivating. With the water spraying over his back, he realized that was still no less true.

When Craig returned, part of him actually expected Tweek to have gotten up and left, but he was sitting up awake. The way he watched Craig walk into the room felt strange and foreign; it tugged at something more primal even as Craig tried to figure out if he liked it or not. He watched with that same strange feeling of displacement as Tweek grabbed his wrist, pulled him back over toward the bed and promptly drew away his towel. It was past dawn at that point, so the sun was leaking into the room, and Craig actually felt kind of awkward.

"What is all this," he wondered aloud, grabbing both of Tweek's wrists in turn, halting him. "What are we doing?" Then he retrieved the towel, but didn't quite wrap it around his waist again, only held it in front of himself.

"I jumped you." Tweek's hands twitched in his lap. "Then I slept last night off." He tilted his head slightly in a way that could have been adorable were the circumstances different, as if he didn't understand the point of the question. He sounded in control of himself again, like whatever had freaked him out the night before was already a distant memory.

"Slept it off." Like it was all a miasma of drunkenness and colour. Whatever Tweek had been, whatever he'd become. Craig felt the heat at the back of his head; felt the pinpricks in his chest. He swallowed thickly, disarmed, and walked over to his dresser in silence.

"Not _you!_ " Tweek's voice was at his back. He heard the rustle of bedclothes, but no footsteps on the carpet. "I— Jesus. My head last night. I needed it. You have no idea, Craig."

"You got that right," Craig muttered, pulling on a fresh set of boxers. The memory slid through him and it was hot and desperate and he felt himself getting that way, again. Craig felt ready to break himself in half. It was then that he heard the soft sounds of Tweek's feet touching down on the floor, one after the other, and then there was a fleeting breath at his shoulder and the painful warmth of skin, muscle and bone at his back. Tweek's knotted hand slid around Craig's hip and gently cupped his dick, like he knew.

Craig snatched his wrist, then turned and pressed a hand squarely against Tweek's chest. Ignoring the tremor of his heart, pushing and tugging him back onto the bed at once, Craig leaned forward with a knee braced against the edge. He watched as Tweek's lashes fluttered shut.

"Go take a fucking shower," Craig said. "And then go home."

When Tweek opened his eyes again, they revealed nothing, but he could actually look Craig in the eye after being told something like that. It was funny: so much used to make him squirm, and then there were the places he held carefully close—like last night—and yet ultimately, it was a struggle to faze Tweek anymore. He grabbed up Craig's towel and left the room without another word.

Craig was left to his own devices: to lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling, listening to the distant beat of water on the wall and knowing that Tweek was cleaning every trace of him away, inside and out. But when Tweek returned with his hair darkened to gold and curling wetly against his neck Craig found his footing on the ground again, and then his naked back was against the door. Tweek was kissing him, hard, and Craig gripped his shoulders so tightly that the skin flushed pink under his blunt fingers.

 _Why_ , Craig wanted to ask again when his body crushed Tweek's flat against the mattress. He fucked him without a condom this time, mainly because they were so swept up in the fragmented moment that Craig could barely remember pulling him down to the bed. Tweek had moaned for him then, but while Craig fucked him hard enough for the ensuing slap of skin and bone to echo sharply in the room every time, all he got for his efforts was the sight of the ropy muscles tensing in Tweek's back. And Tweek's thighs clenched deliciously around him, his hips rode him backwards and drew him in, but the silence made Craig uncomfortable. _Why aren't you here with me?_

"Hey," he grunted out, and the sound of his voice embarrassed him a little. "Uh, Tweek." His rational mind never would have brought him to this conclusion that it was the right thing to do, but when Tweek didn't answer him right away, Craig brought his hand up and sharply struck him on one of those trembling, soft cheeks. Tweek actually yelped and jerked back against him. Craig felt a flash of mortification.

"Oh, _god_ ," but Tweek moaned into the pillow, barring shut any attempt at an apology. His asshole clenched firm around the cock that filled it, pulling a low groan from Craig.

"Where were you?"

"Here—" Tweek sounded like he didn't understand the question, his voice breathless, but then he seemed to get it after all. "In my head."

"You're not making any noise," Craig said quietly, though he hadn't stilled his hips. _Or any sense._ He suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious, like this had actually been some careful moment held between them and his statement wrecked it to pieces.

Tweek only laughed at him, a little, the wavering sound breaking into a sharp cry that wasn't entirely muffled when Craig got frustrated and grabbed him by the hips, shoving in hard. The ensuing remorse actually made Craig stop entirely, his chest heavy. Fuck, he couldn't do this. He tried to apologize again but this time his throat stuck tight and he could only make some kind of floundering noise in response.

"What the Hell, man," Tweek rasped out, hips slithering forward then back, though it seemed more to make a point than anything. "I'm just focused, don't stop, Christ..." In spite of the precarious line between begging and command, Tweek's voice was quiet and mellow, like he was stoned. Or, more accurately so, as if he held nothing but patience for Craig's hangups.

"Oh." Craig rocked into him again and Tweek actually growled this time, but it was definitely a pleasured sound, and that was what Craig wanted to hear. He squeezed his eyes shut and bent over, burying his face into Tweek's back and groaning helplessly when he shot off into him only a few strokes later. Tweek whimpered along with him, as if delighted by this.

"Do it again."

"What," Craig gasped out; those few seconds had become precious even after his orgasm ebbed away, leaving him soft and content to lie on Tweek's back. Dimly in the back of his mind he realized Tweek hadn't come yet, which made him feel like a bastard, since he'd been so relaxed he almost didn't care.

"What you did a few minutes ago," Tweek whined out, one side of him lifting off the bed a little, the purposeful twitches of his arm immediately telling Craig that he'd started to jerk himself.

"What, this?" Craig's voice was thick as if he'd just woken up, but he brought his hand down on the same place he'd struck before, the sound sharp and harsh through the fog of sex that had permeated his bedroom. He felt a little like an idiot, like he was trying to reenact some stupid porno. Tweek's ass was actually a little bony, which Craig found enticing, but striking it hurt his palm a bit. It irritated Craig even more when Tweek finally moaned out loud, the way he wouldn't for his cock.

"Yeah—" Tweek panted out, rocking his hips. "Yeah, like that... do it again. Please."

Craig did, half-heartedly and on the other side this time, shaking his head a little, though he did enjoy the plea at the end. He knew Tweek could feel his nonchalance, perhaps even his annoyance, but it didn't matter because Tweek was tensing and shuddering beneath him after that, crying out into the sheets.

Well. At least that part was hot.

After wiping them both up Craig laid down on his back next to his friend, who had gone completely silent on him again, face pressed into the pillow. He felt like he needed to say something but didn't quite know what, exactly, so he sighed and pressed his fingers together.

"Um."

That at least got Tweek's attention, because he was turning over onto his side to face Craig. The softness in his expression actually startled him. He actually seemed at peace with himself, which was a weird sentiment to attach to someone like Tweek.

Tweek smiled a little and leaned his forehead against Craig's shoulder, though no other parts of them were touching. "Thanks."

"Okay." Craig said, feeling cold all of a sudden. _Fuck you_ , he suddenly thought. _Seriously, go fuck yourself._ Tweek seemed to be dozing off against him, a little, and Craig felt like there was something in his chest again, weighted and useless.

"Look," he started again a few minutes later, after stiffly lying there in silence. Tweek gasped and jerked awake, blinking like he was disoriented. He rubbed his hand across his eyes. Craig didn't care. Let him be confused, for once. "I still think you should go home." Without looking at Tweek's face, he continued, "I don't think that should happen again. It'll make things too complicated, and I don't want to deal with that."

"It doesn't have to be!" Tweek replied, sitting up. That caught Craig off-guard, too. He'd expected him to agree. "It can happen like everything else; this— _ngh!—_ helps me focus. My parents, they don't understand."

 _Don't understand what_ , Craig wanted to ask, because he didn't either—and then he realized, _everything about you_ , probably.

"It's like it always is," Tweek insisted when Craig just stared at him. "You helping me settle— ah! Helping me sleep. My nightmares, they're gone, can't you see that?"

"I'm not talking about us never hanging out again," Craig interjected, feeling sore in too many ways. "I meant what just happened."

"I _know_ what you meant." Tweek pulled at his hair a little, visibly exasperated.

That was the last of what they'd said that morning, because Tweek dressed quickly, shivering like he could never get warm enough. Craig walked him to the door because he didn't trust his own family not to barrage his impromptu guest with questions, and Tweek didn't offer so much as a goodbye when he stepped outside—nor when he turned onto the sidewalk and set off on the walk home.

Craig didn't watch him disappear into the horizon. He closed the door at the first sight of Tweek's back and spent the rest of his weekend without him.

 

* * *

 

The real problem was that Tweek had called Craig's bluff, and they both knew it, but Craig thought those lingering days between them would work some kind of magic anyway and warp the whole situation into a perfect glass bauble of a moment, something untainted and untouchable. The flimsy spell broke on Monday, when they didn't talk much at all but after the final bell Craig found himself shuffling closer to Tweek as the students poured out of the school; it had become routine. "If you're still mad at me," he started, but quickly realized he had nothing to follow it up, so it was a statement in its own right.

"I never get mad at you!"

Craig scoffed before he even thought about it, cutting his gaze to Tweek's side around the curve of his hat, but then he found himself grabbing Tweek's hand and holding it the entire walk back to the Tweaks' place. Tweek absolutely hated anyone touching him (unless it was an expectation, Craig supposed, since Tweek apparently wasn't a virgin even before the other night). He was still nervous and high-strung in that regard, so easily startled—though it seemed in these latter years that he was being pulled back from his thoughts more than anything else—but he'd stopped flinching years ago at any of Craig's gestures, rare occurrences they might have been.

They ended up making out in Tweek's kitchen, which had always smelled like muffins for as long as Craig could remember, and he'd even initiated it himself, feeling strangely sentimental. They ended up _fucking_ in Tweek's kitchen, too, also at Craig's behest, although it was Tweek's suggestion that they not even bother moving because his parents wouldn't be home for hours yet. He urged Craig to pull on his hair as he bent him over the counter, and Craig found himself all too willing to oblige. Tweek's hair was a blond wavy mess that had improved from "unkempt" to "charmingly tousled" as they grew up, though Craig had always enjoyed touching it. Slapping Tweek on the ass, not so much, though he did so anyway when he grabbed a handful of flesh and Tweek begged him to do it.

"Slut," he muttered, against his better judgment but it slipped out anyway. Craig felt overwhelmingly stupid again, but Tweek didn't seem to mind at all, because he actually bent his head forward and breathed out Craig's name a couple of times as his come dripped onto the floor. It struck Craig somewhere he didn't want to think about, so he simply held Tweek's hips possessively and bit his shoulder rather harshly when he came inside. The bruise didn't fade for almost a week.

 

* * *

 

"I'm not into that weird stuff you keep making me do," Craig finally brought up after a few weeks of this frenzied infatuated whirlwind they'd pulled themselves into. Before Tweek sex had been a string of curiosities, awkwardly grasping at moments that were far too short but felt like milestones anyway, and yet they were also comfortably boring and conventional. The excitement to be found was the added rush of doing something that would always be at least somewhat forbidden, being _gay_ and not even trying to cover it up, and Craig always prided himself on the fact that he'd never been with a girl. Mainly because he knew as early as fifth grade that he really just had no interest in them whatsoever, so it wasn't some soul-searching feat for him.

He'd also been with exactly three people before all of this happened, so maybe Craig just didn't have much of a basis of comparison yet. But no one else had asked him to pull their hair or bite their nipples or slap the shit out of them, so all of this was completely out of his element. It creeped him out and made him feel a little gross, this stepping out of the neat boundaries of his tiny narrow view of conventional gay sex, and he wondered if Tweek had learned everything from pornography or something. All that BDSM stuff was for freaks like that Mr. Slave creep, or fat hairy guys in leather who had young smooth things on leashes, or dipshit "edgy" faux-romance novels for girls who liked all that _Twilight_ garbage. Not teenagers still trying to find their way in life.

Right?

Tweek had laughed at him when he said that. He didn't used to laugh or smile very much, but he was a little less guarded now even at school. Kenny mentioned once at the lunch table that Tweek seemed "bizarrely happy for some reason, lately", to which Tweek replied, "I am." Craig had perfected the art of not giving anything away, not even in his face, so in spite of their friends' obnoxious questions they came up fruitless.

"It's not _that_ weird!"

"You told me to hit you." It was actually around twenty minutes ago that Tweek had suggested Craig slap him, not on the ass but across the face, and that had been too much for Craig to even entertain the thought. He still came, but the mere suggestion was enough to weird him out so that he just wanted to get their orgasms over with. That had never happened before, and Craig felt he'd been duped somehow, disappointment still lingering under his skin. After all, sex with Tweek was supposed to be this mindblowing otherworldly experience in spite of his little oddities, as it had been up until this point. "I draw the line at slapping your ass. I'm not some abusive freak."

Tweek made one of his little hoarse, high-pitched sounds, which Craig had already learned was a noise of frustration rather than a tic. "Then don't! Jesus fuck!" He actually sounded offended.

"I won't. So don't ask me again."

"You're an asshole!" Tweek sat up then, reaching angrily for his shirt.

"I'm not the one who likes getting beaten up during sex." Craig knew he was acting like a dick, but he also wasn't serious at all, and Tweek should have known that. Craig knew that he did. But he was up and getting dressed in tense silence anyway, brow knit, occasionally letting out one of his little guinea pig noises. Honestly, even now he was fucking adorable when he got pissed off, probably because it was nearly impossible to legitimately get him that way in the first place. Tweek was just very expressive, he always had been.

"Hey," Craig reached for one of Tweek's skinny wrists. "Stop throwing a tantrum, and tell me what you're doing on Saturday." That was actually almost slick of him. Craig felt a little proud of himself.

"You've never asked that before!" Tweek exclaimed, pulling his hand back, suspicion flaring in his expression. When Craig just shrugged at him he replied, twisting his long fingers together, "I'm not— I'm not doing anything. Probably getting fucked or fucked up. That's— _nngh—_ the way of things." He seemed nervous, but there was a strange bitterness there too, and that coupled with what he'd just said had Craig leaping to his feet, bile simmering from his throat all the way down to his stomach.

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean," he ground out. Tweek dropped his hands, actually looking like a deer in headlights. Craig suddenly felt like some ridiculous faggot in a soap opera as he raised his voice, not giving a single shit that it made him sound like even more of a geek rather than any force of intimidation. "Who the fuck else are you doing this with?!"

"Jesus Christ, calm down," Tweek muttered through gritted teeth, though he looked a little terrified, like he hadn't expected Craig to react like this. Craig couldn't help but feel the irony in that statement.

"Calm down!" he barked out in something of an incredulous laugh. "I've been barebacking with you, you freak! What if I caught something!?" That was the least of his worries, honestly, but it was the nastiest thing Craig could think of to say, to catch this soft part of himself and wrap it up tight in thorns so that no one, not even Tweek, could find it out.

It didn't drive Tweek off, even as Craig expected him to run out of the room, wounded. Part of him had banked on that. Instead, there was some kind of unintelligible shriek in the air, and then Tweek had lunged at him with such force that Craig actually stumbled backwards onto the bed. The little bastard was actually _strong_ when he needed to be, pinning Craig down and decking him once in the face—just once—before he could even react. Pain blossomed along Craig's cheekbone and he grunted, bringing a hand up to the area. He didn't fight back, and Tweek didn't strike him again, only gripped Craig's shirt tight in both of his hands.

"Fuck you, Craig! I was talking about _you_ , you stupid prick!" Tweek screeched that down into his face, shaking him roughly by the collar. "What the Hell is wrong with you!?"

Craig rubbed at the throb in his cheek, eyes narrowed. "That hurt, you fucking asshole."

"Good!" Tweek yelled back at him, but then he was kissing along that place, licking down over Craig's cheek until he found his mouth. Craig pulled him in with his tongue and they kissed for a few minutes until he pushed a hand against one of Tweek's shoulders and sat up.

"Okay," he stated, voice steady. "So there's no one else."

" _No!_ Jesus! I'd tell you if there was!"

That stung, somehow. Like it was a fact that either of them _could_ just reach out to someone else, and even if honesty was the best policy, Craig wanted to know everything and nothing at once. He settled a hand at the small of Tweek's back, who was still sitting on his lap and facing him, all four limbs curved around Craig's torso like he was some kind of tree to be climbed. It was easy to forget that Tweek was actually just a little bit taller than him.

"You're hard," Tweek felt the need to point out. "You liked it when I hit you!"

"No I didn't." It was a really pathetic lie.

"You did." Tweek reached up and squeezed the nape of Craig's neck with more of that surprising strength, and Craig felt himself tense up from something that wasn't pain at all, fingers tightening against his friend's shirt. "I won't do it again unless you want me to! But now you get why I keep asking you to do it."

"I'm not punching you in the face." Craig shut his eyes when he felt those long knobby fingers reaching between his legs. Jesus. For someone supposedly on a cocktail of prescriptions Tweek had a ridiculous amount of energy. Wasn't that shit supposed to make it difficult for guys to get it up or get off or whatever? Craig didn't know the specifics, never pried and Tweek never offered, but it did seem a little ironic to him.

"Okay." Tweek reached into Craig's boxers, ignoring the convenient opening in the front and dragging his fingers behind the elastic instead. It snapped against Craig's skin when he reached down and pulled Tweek's hand away, holding it in his own.

"Who else _have_ you been with?" It was probably the rudest, most personal question Craig had ever asked, but he didn't take it back. Tweek stared at him for a few lingering seconds.

"Why? What do you plan to do!?" He actually sincerely sounded afraid, and Craig sighed, rubbing at his own forehead.

"Not who." He wanted to know, but didn't, because then it would become something more real. He'd have a body and a face to picture with Tweek, being intimate and touching and (probably) smacking him around and doing all that other weird shit, instead of a faceless specter. Craig wasn't sure if he was ready for that at all. "Just how many, I guess. I just wanna know where you learned this stuff."

"Jesus," Tweek replied. "You really do think I'm some kind of slut, don't you!?" Craig opened his mouth, a little, but Tweek continued. "It shouldn't matter! This is my life, man! I know how to be safe! This is one of the only places I know how to be safe!"

"I don't actually think you're a slu—"

"Four people, okay!? A guy, two girls, then another guy, then you!"

"Girls." Craig didn't actually feel disgust, but he did feel his insides churn with jealousy, and definitely not because his mentally-unhinged friend had gotten more action than him already. "Ew."

"There's nothing wrong with them! They weren't even from our school!"

"None of them. None of them were from our school."

"Well— _ah!_ Except Jason!"

" _What._ Jason!? Like—"

"Um!" Tweek was fidgeting all of a sudden. Craig had a feeling he just kind of blurted that tidbit out without really thinking about it. "Yeah! But it only happened twice!"

"Jason," Craig repeated. "Why. So that's who started beating you?"

" _What?_ " Tweek all but shrieked that out. "Jesus Christ, no! N-no, we were— i-it was our first time, we were fourteen! What the fuck, Craig?!"

" _Fourteen._ " What the fuck indeed.

" _Agh!_ " Tweek was clearly getting agitated, or something, because he was starting to tic again. He twisted his hand into the side of Craig's boxers, tugging at them a little, though it was definitely not for want of pulling them off. " _Ngh,_ fuck you—! Stop saying I was getting 'beaten', you ignorant prick! One of the girls I hung out with, she was into that stuff, and showed me that I was too! It wasn't some big deal, we don't even—!" Tweek sucked in a sudden sharp breath.

"She showed you that you were too." Craig shook his head a little, not believing any of this, but Tweek wasn't really the type to lie. Not even when people thought he was making shit up, because everything did truly exist, even if only in his own head.

"Like I've been showing you! Because you do like it." Tweek glared at him. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have done it to me! And that stuff is so... it's hardly anything, man, you must have had _really_ boring sex if even what we did is weird to you!"

"Shut up," Craig muttered, but he couldn't—and didn't—get angry at Tweek, because it was true. He hated it. He hated Jason, who he wouldn't be able to look at the same way again, and he hated whatever stupid girls were messing with Tweek's ass and scratching him or whatever it was they did. He hated the guy before him too, whoever the fuck that was, who was probably incredibly rough and turned Tweek on to all kinds of weird depraved things that he, Craig Tucker, couldn't hope to touch because unlike the rest of this town he was actually fucking normal.

"L-look... gah! This is my life, this is why I didn't tell you about any of it, because you wouldn't get it! But if you want to know now, you can, but I'm not gonna tell you anything else if you keep acting like this!"

"So your last boyfriend—"

"Wait!" Tweek held up his hands. "Jason was never my boyfriend!" He seemed to realize immediately that Craig was talking about someone else, because he quickly added, "None of them were!"

"Okay. So the other guy, did he actually smack you?"

Tweek started to flush. "Aah, um— yes. I only like it in the heat of the moment, though! Not just out of nowhere."

"I'm _so_ glad you clarified that," Craig muttered sarcastically. Tweek shoved at him with a vexed little noise.

"No, it's—! Look, okay, I _really_ like it on my ass! If you really must know."

"So you like getting spanked." Weird. So weird. But Craig had been fluctuating through various states of hardness throughout this conversation, and he knew Tweek could feel that.

Tweek pressed a hand against Craig's knee, as if to balance himself there, though he wasn't really in any danger of falling. "It's more than that! It's being in someone else's control, being... _nngah!_ Safe. There's so much shit in my head at any given moment, and I can turn it off for a while! It's such a relief, Craig, that's why I get quiet. It's quietest with you, ah Jesus, the way you make me feel..." He kissed the side of Craig's neck.

Craig shut his eyes for a moment, sighing in deeply. "We need to figure this out."

"What?"

Craig knew that Tweek couldn't possibly have been _that_ stupid. "When I asked what you were doing on Saturday, I wanted to take you out. That was why I asked." He swallowed thickly, suddenly nervous. "Like a date."

Tweek clambered off him though he stayed on the bed, and Craig could feel the mattress shaking with the force of his tremors. "Wait— what?!" He sounded incredulous, not merely surprised, and that made Craig's stomach hurt.

"You know." Clear irritation was seeping into Craig's voice. "Stuff that boyfriends do. Or I guess we're just sleeping together and I'm doing your stupid kinky shit for nothing. Whatever."

"Craig," Tweek had quieted down, and he suddenly sounded very serious. "I— we can't."

"... We can't." Just like that. It was that simple. Holy fucking shit. He was for real.

"You're like my rock, I can't go through any of this stupid daily shit without you! But Jesus Christ, I can't be that way for you, I've never—"

"Spare me," Craig interrupted, standing up. "I get it." He didn't really, but that was okay. He would figure his own shit out, like always, and get back to himself.

"No," Tweek said firmly, obviously trying to hold back some part of himself in order to maintain this unsettling calm that had taken him. "Hear me out. I don't do relationships, I _haven't_ been able to do them. There's so much weight to them, and yet one thing can shatter them like glass. I can't deal with it, not with what I already see, whether my eyes are open or shut."

He didn't want to hear Tweek out at all, but Craig didn't interrupt him again. He'd always been patient with him, and even as it was fraying now, his heart hardening to stave all of it off, Craig knew he could muster it up again. For him. "I've never had one either," he said.

"We're not the same! You know we're not the same. No one can handle me at my worst, and I don't expect them to. Not even you!"

"Bullshit," Craig retorted. "I have."

"No you haven't!" Tweek shouted at him suddenly, climbing to his feet. " _God!_ You have no fucking idea how far I've come, and how far I'm pulled back into myself, _every day_!" His voice cracked at the end, and some kind of rough, high-pitched noise that almost could have been a scream fell from his throat. Then he grabbed his shoes, as if he wanted to put them on and walk right out, but instead he dropped them after a few seconds and buried his face in his hands.

Craig was used to his outbursts, his moments of petulance. He felt his hands shake a little, but he knew that could only be attributed to the way this was turning out all wrong, not Tweek's shouting. "So just do it, asshole. Who cares. We're already doing everything else, and I told you I didn't want it to be complicated, but look where we are."

"I can't." Tweek's voice was strained; he actually sounded on the verge of tears. "I can't do it— I can't be your boyfriend, okay?!"

"Fine." Craig felt himself scowl. "Then get the Hell out of here." It was sudden, and he didn't really mean it, he wanted Tweek to argue it. Plead with him, whatever. Because he was sitting there in his fucking boxers pouring his heart out, and that was the stupidest idea he'd ever had, because Tweek wouldn't lift a finger to fix any of it.

"Why did you have to ask me that," Tweek choked out, reaching for his shoes and pulling them on with hands that shook so hard he almost dropped them. "You ruined everything, _ngh—_ _ah!_ It could have stayed the same, I wasn't fucking anyone else, now you're— you're laying this all on me and it isn't fucking fair! It isn't fair at all!"

"I'm so sorry I actually give a shit about you. It won't happen again." Craig opened his bedroom door and stood beside it, pointedly. He wouldn't even offer the courtesy of walking Tweek out this time, and he slammed it shut after him, listening to his footsteps fading away on the stairs before the front door clicked open.

Unlike Craig, Tweek didn't slam it shut, but he heard it close behind him anyway.


	2. Chemical Dependency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in time for Craig's birthday, hooray. (It's still 11pm over here, okay.)
> 
> Small warning for a scrappy dumb teenage boy fight in this half, which is a little graphic. No, it isn't Tweek vs. Craig. There is also awkward first-timer D/s with spankings and light bondage. Enjoy.......?
> 
> So yeah hi I'm new in town.

Craig knew it would have to come to this eventually. It was just an inevitability, regardless of what level their friendship had risen to.

Or fallen, depending on how one looked at it.

It wasn't like they could depend on each other forever. Or perhaps more accurately, Craig couldn't depend on _Tweek_ forever. It was plainly obvious that Tweek never really needed the support he'd gotten after all, because he didn't even seem to miss it. Craig wasn't sleeping over at Tweek's anymore, nor was he inviting him over to his place. Because he'd always taken the initiative in doing either of these things, not Tweek, their beds remained filled with themselves and no one else.

Or, at least, Craig's did.

He didn't want to think about how Tweek filled in the empty spaces. In fact, he didn't want to think about him at all. Whatever vices he had were none of Craig's business. He wasn't going to get involved anymore. It was stupid to think that Tweek's presence actually amounted to any sort of balance in Craig's world. Life was too short and too transient to hang onto the things that threatened to tip the scales.

Of course, aligning what he knew and what he felt into some form of neutrality was easier said than done. "Out of sight, out of mind" didn't exactly make the cut here, because he still saw Tweek at school. They shared a few different classes, a few different friends, and sat in the same general area of the courtyard at lunch. Craig was actually getting really sick of them all. Sick of Kenny's dumbassed knowing looks when he really knew absolutely nothing at all, sick of Jimmy and Clyde's ludicrous banter that no one else found funny, and he was _especially_ sick of Stan and Kyle with their faggy gestures, pretending they were sneaking them under the table when it was obvious everyone could see. Craig didn't do relationships, either, or at least he thought he didn't. But he wanted to do stupid fucking bullshit like rest his hand on Tweek's leg or stroke his thumb over the back of his knuckles, the way Kyle was currently doing to Stan, and the way he coveted their happy simplicity was making him feel sour.

"Ugh." Craig winged a french fry at Kyle's head. He was the only person besides Craig who could almost never be seen without his cap, although that was another privilege Tweek had been afforded. Craig had the distinct impression that Kyle probably even wore that stupid thing while riding Stan's dick, or plowing into him or however they humped each other. Right now, that thought irritated the shit out of him more than any other time. "Some of us are trying to enjoy our fine meal. Get a room or go sit somewhere else." That made no logistical sense, but whatever. It startled them both into separating their hands, so that was enough.

"What the hell!" said Stan.

"Yeah, they're just sitting there, Craig." Token pointed out, as much of a Cliche Conflict Resolution Kevin as he'd ever be. Whatever. Craig had gotten the result he wanted, so he didn't even answer, calmly picking up a few fries and chewing on them.

"Is there a _problem_?" Kyle, on the other hand, seemed unwilling to let it slide. He was different from Craig when it came to his gayness. Mainly in the sense that he seemed to delight in any opportunity to stand up against his oppressors, even when those oppressors liked dick just as much and just as unashamedly. Craig just didn't believe in waving the proverbial rainbow flag around, he liked minding his own business and making sure everyone else did the same, and Kyle's borderline obsession with social justice had never impressed him. "No, really, are you threatened by the fact that I have no shame about holding my boyfriend's hand in public? Is that it?"

"FAG FIGHT!" Eric Cartman called gleefully from the other side of the courtyard. Kyle had one of those voices, not to mention a temperament, that really carried, so it didn't surprise Craig at all that he'd heard him. Tweek, who was sitting across from Kyle, yelped in surprise. He cupped a hand over his mouth, because he had more self-awareness now and actually got embarrassed by his problems in mixed company, and dropped his gaze.

Stan, considerably less impressed, rolled his eyes and grabbed Kyle's hand. "Dude, just let it go, come on."

"Kick the shit out of him, Kyle!" Clyde laughed. It was unclear whether he was actually excited by the completely nonexistent possibility of a brawl, or if he was just making fun of him. Either way, there were too many voices at once drawing attention to them, and Craig decided he had enough.

"You are blowing this out of proportion," he said, standing up, "and I'm not interested in indulging you any further. I am moving elsewhere to finish my lunch in peace." That was it. That was his parting shot. Craig strolled out of the courtyard, empty-handed and knowing Kyle was glaring daggers at his back. He did, however, catch sight of Tweek -- who was staring directly at him with an unreadable expression, lips slightly parted.

As soon as they locked gazes both of them looked away, and Craig turned his back on the whole affair. Something soft and round hit his shoulder and pattered to the floor, probably a dinner roll, and a couple of girls giggled. Good lord, he didn't have time for this shit.

"But you didn't take your lunch!" Tweek suddenly called after him. It was enough to make Craig falter in his step, just for an instant, before he silently pulled the door open and reentered the school building.

 

\--

 _Seeing_ Tweek around wasn't even the half of it. Craig hadn't exactly forgotten the things Tweek made him do, nor the way he insulted him, reminding him just how painfully bland his own sex had been. It left him with a slow, chilling anger whenever he'd recall it. Did Tweek hold everyone up to these fucked-up standards? Craig didn't want to think about it, but with the removal of Tweek's presence that had originally kept him occupied--disrupting his routine--his curiosity often got the better of him. His nights typically ended with lying in bed, the glow of his laptop screen like a dimming lamp on his bedside table, pathetically jerking it to weird crap that he liked to picture Tweek might have been into.

He needed to get the fuck over him. He really did.

But this was a strange sort of catharsis for him--or so Craig liked to convince himself--spilling out his secret wants into a tissue and throwing it all away. Each time was supposed to be the last, but it never was.

The only time he actually watched _gay_ pornography was when he found a video of some guy with a completely hairless chest lying there, having what looked like plastic clothespins pinching his nipples and then someone held a candle over him, spilling, dribbling it over him like come while the flame twisted and danced. Usually, Craig preferred to watch the videos that featured women -- something that surprised even himself, since he wasn't into them at all. But the men in gay porno were too fake, too musclebound and too hairy; _or_ they were so completely shaven that the sight of their plucked-chicken ballsacks grossed Craig out, too. Tweek wasn't entirely hairless and the softness around his edges wasn't even remotely womanly, but if Craig had to pick an extreme, he'd take those gentler aspects over the rest because Tweek definitely did not fit the image of any of those leather douchebags either.

It tended to be ones where the woman would be lying on her front, anyway, only her arched ass and spine visible, her thighs. Without her breasts flopping around and ruining everything for him, Craig could leave it on mute and pretend the hands on her body were his own; that it was him wrapping up those slender wrists and ankles, that the pale rippling flesh rapidly flushing pink from calculated slaps belonged to-- _fuck_.

He still hated himself afterwards. Hated himself for even lowering to such depths when he was completely 100% bonafide homo and had no problem admitting it to himself.

He kind of hated Tweek for it, too.

Craig spent the rest of the lunch period in the library, pretending to himself that he was actually getting work done, though what he really wanted was to go lock himself in the bathroom and jerk off because his thoughts were drifting back into those curiosities. He never had the balls to do something like that, especially with fools like Stan and Kyle around; he couldn't even take a shit without hearing them walk in and start in on one of their daily soaps. Even before lunch _that very day_ he walked out to find them practically humping against the wall next to the sinks. And they knew he was there! Did those bastards have any fucking shame?

At least his thoughts gravitating to those two was killing the boner Craig never wanted in the first place. He slammed his book shut and folded his arms upon it, opting to nap instead for the rest of the lunch period, his chullo an automatic makeshift pillow even while on his head.

The sound of the bell woke him up with a start twelve minutes later. Craig rubbed his eyes, adjusted his hat, packed up his stuff and made his way to sixth period.

Kyle was at his locker with Stan nowhere in sight, and he was scowling down at what looked to be his phone. Craig couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. Today, especially, the two of them had been on this obnoxious rollercoaster, always managing to be _right there_ wherever Craig turned his head. The hallway! The classroom! The bathroom! The cafeteria! Always them, as a single unit, regardless of how much and how loudly they were or _weren't_ getting along at that point in time. Craig barely even gave a shit about Kyle or his dumbassed boyfriend, he really just wanted the two of them _away_ and out of his face, to go and find _another_ section on this green earth to ruin with their insipid happiness. It was revolting.

"And now for the thrilling encore," Craig remarked flatly as he passed by, unable to keep his mouth shut. He really should have, but being pissed off over The Marsh-Broflovski Experience was far more satisfying than being pissed off over Tweek.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kyle tense up, shove his phone in his pocket, and slowly turn in his direction.

"No," he said, his voice low and menacing. "No fucking way. Not today, Craig."

Craig had been ready to ignore him and just keep walking, but there was something in Kyle's tone that went beyond spiteful. A little like the overdone display of attitude in the courtyard during lunch, and yet not. It was weighted and cold; perhaps it might have intimidated someone else. Craig was still caught off-guard--it had succeeded in that at the very least--and it was enough for him to stop in his tracks.

Kyle's footsteps echoed as he stormed across the hallway, squeaking against the shiny floor, and Craig felt the weight of a thousand eyes on them both. Before he could even react, Kyle had him by the shirt. Craig's shoulder hit one of the metal doors with a hollow thud.

"Not _today_ ," Kyle hollered suddenly, his face so close and so flushed that Craig could see the freckles on his nose and the tiny white scars littering his jaw and around his mouth, normally invisible. He actually had beautiful eyes, but Craig would never describe a self-important dipshit like Kyle Broflovski as 'beautiful'. "You _fucking asshole!_ I am _sick_ of your hypocritical _bullshit!_ "

He looked insane. That was really the only way Craig could describe it. Crazy and mindless and just fucking inhuman, but not in a way that frightened him. It was more like getting harassed by a rabid housecat, or something. Or perhaps a mental patient. His breath was all up in Craig's face, and as if to seal his image as the pretty poster boy for being Out and Proud(!), it didn't even stink. It smelled like fucking Jolly Ranchers, for Christ's sakes. Annoyed, though mostly out of reflex, Craig shoved Kyle back. They hadn't fought in a few years, not physically, but general locker room nakedness had shown Craig that while Kyle was lanky like his father, he was also round and out of shape in the middle like his mother. Craig's fist connected with that soft place, his gut, and Kyle let out a yelp like a kicked puppy as he staggered backwards.

Silence. Not even a gasp. With it came the cold, sobering reminder that Kyle was actually beloved by a lot of people in their grade. It wasn't like when they were all in their awkward phases, even if Kyle had never seemed to truly grow out of his. _The calm before the storm_ was a cliche-as-fuck descriptor to attach to this deafening silence around them, but that's almost what it really was, a breath of heavy, ominous air before someone whooped in delight and then the hallway was fucking chaos, people rushing over, shouting, cheering. Craig wasn't even sure who was for whom anymore. It had all really only happened over the span of a few seconds, a burst of pain in the center of Craig's face startling him when he quickly realized that Kyle had struck him back, _hard_ , and that was why everything went insane. That was what made it a fight, not a bullying interspersed with numb bystander mentality in which--Craig could already tell, in spite of who actually pushed _who_ first--he was the "bully" in this bizarre scenario.

" _Fuck!_ " Craig yelled out, rather gracelessly, hand flying up to cup around his nose. He felt it throbbing, dripping down his upper lip, and Craig knew there was no way in Hell that was just snot. He lunged forward again, one-handed, snarling and grabbing Kyle by the front of his shirt, swinging him around to slam _his_ back against the row of lockers this time. A set of knuckles collided with one of Craig's cheekbones, just under his eye. That actually hurt, too. He was not in the mood for this, and kind of hoped he hit Kyle's head enough to give him a fucking concussion if it would make him leave him alone. One of Kyle's fists clipped Craig on the chin, Craig tried to pop him in the goddamn mouth but missed and hit his jaw instead, and then more Hell was breaking loose: angry shouts behind him, someone (or someones?) grabbing his arms.

"Craig, stop it! _Stop._ " He could see Clyde on one side out of the corner of his eye, but it was Kenny's voice at his ear. Instinctively, Craig struggled against them, hauling himself forward. 

Only a couple feet away, The Boyfriend had appeared, holding Kyle's wrists behind him in a pretty impressive lock. Stan was pressed ridiculously close to him, shouting as Kyle thrashed and howled like a crazed fucking animal caught in a trap. "Kyle! _Kyle!_ Stop, calm down! Kyle!" Somewhere in the chaos Kyle's ushanka hat had fallen off, lying on the ground behind his and Stan's fused bodies like a sad and limp vegetable, leaving his exposed hair a mess of frizzed ringlets that completed this surreal, rabid version of him.

"I'll _kill_ you! _I'll FUCKING kill you, Craig!_ FUCK YOU!" Kyle lunged at him again, and even if he couldn't break free of Stan's hold, he actually managed to drag him several paces forward. Unable to do much else, he kicked out viciously at Craig as Stan tried to pull him back, Clyde and Kenny tried to pull Craig back, it was quite the rousing game of tug-o'-war.

Jesus Christ. He'd completely snapped. Kyle Broflovski had actually fucking snapped, and it didn't take getting his mouth sewn to someone's ass or swallowing Cartman's farts in front of everyone or getting the shit kicked out of him on the playground. No, all it took was a simple offhand comment several years later, when they were all grown up and should have known better. Craig was absolutely amazed.

And then Kyle actually _spat_ on him, a disgusting, wet wad of it splashing right on his stinging cheek, and Craig felt his enthrallment shift all the way into full-blown anger. What the fuck was _wrong_ with this cretin. Was he really that desperate?

"You little shit!" Craig roared back. "I'll get you!" Now it was his turn to lunge forward. He heard someone squawk his name (Clyde, probably) and there was more pulling at his arms; both of them were strong fuckers, Kenny and Clyde. Kenny was also used to fighting, much more than he was. Personally, Craig tried to avoid them. He felt a strange sort of betrayal, for whatever reason, that Kenny wasn't backing him up -- even though Kenny had been friends with Kyle for much longer, so it was a stupid thing to feel jilted over.

Everyone else was still shouting and whooping around them, encouraging, goading, but then a teacher Craig didn't recognize burst onto the scene with a pair of security guards in tow.

"What's going on here!?" he shouted. "Break it up right now! Both of you!"

"Get _off_ me, Clyde, Jesus Christ." Craig tried to shake his arms, annoyed and no longer really interested in this pathetic display, but both of them held him tight.

"No. You're gonna get in trouble!"

As if on cue, Kyle immediately went slack in Stan's hold, dropping first to his knees before dramatically collapsing forward. Stan kind of fell along with him, holding him carefully like they were in the middle of a war or something and his true love was dying in his arms. Craig drew back in disgust, officially done with all this nonsense.

"Good one, Kyle!" Cartman shouted from the peanut gallery in his noteworthy drawl, laughing, and basically echoing Craig's thoughts. Except Craig wasn't amused by this at all. Not at all. A few girls had shrieked, and the crowd was dispersing. It wasn't until Craig literally stopped in his tracks and stood stock still that his captors seemed to take the hint, slackening their hold on him. Cupping his nose again, Craig held up his other hand in a mock-gesture of peace, stepping forward. There was radio static in the background, the security guards saying something about a student that was fighting and lost consciousness, whatever, he wasn't paying attention.

"Uh. Is he--"

"What the Hell did you do to him, Craig?!" Stan snarled up at him, though he was pretty useless for anything else, kneeling on the floor with Kyle's body sort of half-cradled in his lap. Kyle was definitely out--or at least doing a good job of making it _look_ that way--his face was ashen. That was probably the only thing keeping Stan from jumping Craig himself, honestly.

"Really. What did _I_ do to _him_." Craig just sort of stared down at Stan, as if it would somehow dawn on him that the guy who had dared to lay a finger on his precious little muffin was currently standing there _nursing a fucking broken nose._

"Office, young man." One of the security guards pointed down the hallway. "Your friends can take you there right now or I can drag you there myself. Your choice."

"Come on." Kenny's voice was calm but stern. "Dude, you've done enough here. Really. Just leave them alone."

Craig rolled his eyes, but he let Kenny push him along without putting up a fight, mainly because he wanted to get this shit over with and get cleaned up. His shirt was a mess by now, blood drying on his chin. He sniffed deeply and heard his nose squeak a little. Fucking disgusting. Fucking Kyle. Even when he tried to stay away from those assholes he always ended up roped in, screwed over.

There were voices behind him, now, and Craig turned to look over his shoulder. Butters had joined the wonder couple, and Kyle seemed to have snapped out of his little performance, being helped to his feet. His legs were quivering like a gazelle learning to walk for the first time. "Are you kidding me," Craig grumbled.

"Nope," Kenny replied, but it wasn't in answer to his question; rather, it was scolding, like a mother herding her child along after catching him straying from the path. "Nope. Come on." As if she could hear them, the security guard--who was still standing there watching Craig with her arms crossed--shook her head and pointed down the hall.

Kenny and Clyde actually sat with Craig while he got reprimanded and written up and given his sentence: five days' suspension. He really just wanted all of it to go away, didn't want them there-- but at the same time, he was grateful that at least someone fucking had his back in this place. It almost made the punishment easy to deal with, though he did snap at the administrator at one point, "he's the one who _broke my nose_! I barely fucking touched him!"

The administration let Craig go to the nurse, escorted by his friends, on the condition that he leave the premises _immediately_ after receiving attention. It was the kind of thing you'd only get away with as a senior; Craig was grateful, again, that he wasn't being poked along by security and being made a spectacle of. It also dimly occurred to Craig at that moment that sending him to get lectured and punished _before_ medical attention was kind of completely fucking absurd.

Only in South Park.

But what do you know: as soon as he got there, Craig was greeted by the sight of his favourite star-crossed lovers in the waiting room. He could see Kyle's fucking clown hair all the way from the hallway, in the window. He was slumped against Stan, head on his shoulder, and as if Stan had some kind of sixth sense he suddenly turned and met Craig's gaze through the glass. Craig just kind of stood there lamely and stared back. Stan shook his head, slowly, pointedly.

Part of Craig wanted to burst in there and give Stanley Marsh a piece of his mind, tell him that he didn't have any authority and had no right to try and bully him out of going to the fucking _nurse_ after his dipshit fairy boyfriend maimed his face. But mostly, he didn't want to deal with any more of it; he was getting a headache. He settled for flipping Stan off, who turned back as if he hadn't seen it.

"Come on," Clyde offered. "Let's just get cleaned up at my house."

"Yeah, good idea," Kenny backed him up. They both seemed to agree this was for the best, too, which pissed Craig off even more.

"I didn't do anything to him," he grumbled, again, as they left the school. Kenny and Clyde exchanged a look, then just kind of shrugged.

"Kyle's dealing with some serious shit right now," Kenny answered him. "Just give him his space. It's better that way for everyone involved." He actually looked just a little tired when he said that.

"Everyone's dealing with shit," Craig retorted, flatly. "I haven't broken anyone's nose."

"I really don't think it's broken," Clyde piped up.

"Kyle Broflovski doesn't get a free pass to do what he wants just because he's got his panties in a wad over something new this week," Craig continued on as if he hadn't heard him.

Kenny just sighed at him. "Really, dude, just let it be. Don't drag this out. Be the bigger man."

"It's a little late for that." But Craig let himself be taken in, although once Clyde handed him the first aid supplies he essentially told them both to fuck off and locked himself in the bathroom. It pissed him off, but Clyde was actually right; his nose wasn't broken, just hurt like fucking Hell. Craig helped himself to a shower and then some of Clyde's clothes. They were a little big on him, but he felt a lot calmer.

"See, man, you're okay." Kenny placed a hand on Craig's shoulder, who promptly pushed it away. "Want some medicine?" he offered cheerfully. Clyde whined in response.

"Not in my house, my dad will kill me!"

Craig's phone buzzed in his pocket. He almost didn't want to look at it, knowing the school contacted his parents, but he knew he might as well man up and face the music. Ignoring a message from one of them would just get him into deeper shit. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out.

The screen read: _1 unread message. Sender: FUCKFACE - IGNORE_.

"Uh," he said, rather eloquently. "I gotta take this. Get out."

Kenny laughed at him. "You know this is Clyde's bedroom and not your house, right?"

"Nah, come on, Ken." Clyde was used to it. He craned his head in the direction of his doorway as if to illustrate that, and then they were mercifully gone.

 _kyle B broke your nose!?_ it said. Tweek had not contacted him so directly in many, many weeks. Okay, like three weeks. But it had felt like a long-ass time, and maybe it really was, when the things that encompassed normality have been completely in upheaval.

 _No._ \- Craig punched back. His stomach was twisting all around and into itself, which was starting to piss him off all over again. He didn't recall seeing Tweek anywhere during the altercation, and the fact that he _wanted_ this validation from him was completely humiliating.

Maybe he should have accepted Kenny's offer to smoke up after all.

The phone buzzed again, and then a second time, and a third.

_FUCKFACE - IGNORE  
Calling_

Craig's hands felt numb, the tips of his fingers cold and heavy. He stared wordlessly at his phone until the 'calling' changed to 'missed call', but then it started up again.

He had half a mind to throw the damn phone right into Clyde's toilet.

 _Stop calling me._ was going to be the next message, but then another text buzzed through while he was in the middle of it, and Craig found his finger hovering over the 'send' button. After a moment of deliberation, he pressed it anyway. There was nothing left to prove, even if the initiative Tweek had actually taken in reaching out to him was making his face tingle in a weird way.

 _answer your phone prick_ had been the text that interrupted him. There was no follow-up to the one Craig had just sent out. He suddenly felt a growing sense of disappointed dread that it had actually worked, that Tweek wouldn't try again, that he'd actually gotten the hint and would go back to his own screwed up life and leave Craig to his. Craig stared at his phone as the minutes ticked by.

After about fifteen of them, he scowled and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Then he went out of Clyde's bedroom, straight to the front door and pulled his shoes on.

"Dude, everything a'ight?" Kenny called to him from the kitchen. He and Clyde were bumming around in there, probably drinking beers they'd swiped from the fridge. Mr. Donovan never seemed to care all that much. Probably because he knew Clyde, who was on the football team (with fucking Stan Marsh, Craig recalled with distaste), wouldn't actually do anything to screw himself up -- so allowing his son to have one now and then wouldn't hurt anything. Craig kind of wished he and his dad had that kind of unspoken arrangement, but he also thought most beer just tasted like piss, so he never really bothered to try and press that limit.

"My dad said I have to go home because I'm grounded."

" _Ouch_." Kenny laughed a little. "See ya when you get out."

"Call me, man!" said Clyde.

"I don't know you like that." Craig pulled on his jacket and walked out the door without once looking behind him.

 

\--

There was no answer at the Tweak place. Craig spent ten minutes hanging out on the front step, interspersed with ringing the bell. He even knocked a couple times.

It figured.

The entire ordeal, from bitch-fight to Clyde's to walking here, had taken up the greater portion of about three hours. The sky was starting to go grey, dimming out in preparation for evening. _Just_ to make sure Tweek hadn't texted him back after all, Craig pulled out his phone.

Nope. Nothing. The happy-looking puppy on his wallpaper just seemed to be taunting him.

 _Fuck this_ , Craig thought to himself, as if this brought on a sudden dash of mental clarity. What was he even _doing_ here. They'd both made it clear that they never wanted to see each other again. He rubbed at his nose; the cold in the air had actually numbed it a little, but it still hurt.

He turned and finally walked off the stoop, and that's when he heard the door open.

"What do you want?"

Craig immediately turned back around, though he didn't walk back onto the porch. "You were home the whole time."

" _Haah!_ So what?!" Tweek's voice was a little loud. Craig glanced around him, not wanting to attract the neighbours' attention.

"So, how about letting me in."

Much to his surprise--and yet, maybe not, after all--Tweek stepped back from the doorway to allow that to happen. Craig walked inside, taking it upon himself to push the door shut behind him.

"I didn't see you anywhere."

"Fights scare me," Tweek replied, fidgeting where he stood. "Everyone gets so _close_ , I can't breathe, it's like I'm fucking _drowning_ \-- Aah!"

But the noise wasn't because of the reminder; it was because Craig had grabbed him, pulled him close, crushed their mouths together. Tweek pressed against him until Craig's back was firm against the door, lifting his hands and holding tight to the flaps of his hat, as if unsure about the merits of yanking it off unbidden.

"Craig," Tweek mumbled against his mouth after a moment of this, of tongues and teeth and... yes, amusingly enough, he tasted like coffee, probably because it was a time when he'd be trying to do homework. Craig moved his head back because the way Tweek had said it was like he was trying to get his attention, not simply the heat of the moment.

"What."

"I didn't change my mind." Tweek still had one of the chullo-flaps pinched between his fingers. "But I need you." He rocked his hips forward into Craig's pelvis to show him what he meant; he didn't necessarily mean he needed him as a person.

Craig pulled away from him then, adjusting his hat, reaching down to pull off his shoes. He heard the rustle of cloth, and knew from experience even without looking up that Tweek was tugging at his own shirt. Not to pull it off, but simply to have something to fidget with.

"So I guess you don't want to know what happened."

"Ah, man," Tweek quivered, reaching for him, fingers sliding over the bruises blossoming on Craig's cheek. "This is hardly anything!"

"Hardly anything," Craig echoed, scoffing. "He went completely insane and attacked me out of nowhere. I never want to hear his name again without the word 'in-patient' in the same sentence."

Tweek didn't seem to find that funny at all. He pulled his hand back. "Craig," he said, and sort of growled a little. "Not in my house, okay?!"

"Okay." Craig had no idea what he was talking about, so he just let the subject drop. They both stood there for a moment in awkward silence, and then Tweek scratched his head.

"Want any coffee?"

"No."

Tweek made some kind of soft noise and pressed his lips together a little, not quite frowning. "Why'd you come here, Craig?" The million dollar question.

Craig leaned back against the door. "I guess to teach you a lesson."

Disciplined. Reined in. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? Craig seized Tweek's thin wrist and while he could see those eyes were wide with surprise, pupils dilated with wanton confusion, he also couldn't bring himself to look into them too deeply. It would bring back that feeling of having his chest torn into again, and fuck, he had no room for feelings like that.

"Aah-- what!?"

He'd caught him off-guard. Good. Craig still had no idea what the fuck he was doing, he was entirely winging it, but that selfish part of him didn't want to walk away.

"Upstairs." Craig was already pulling on him, and none too gently. Tweek followed after him, not putting up a single fuss, though he was shaking a little.

"Wait, stop it!" Tweek actually yanked his hand away once they were in his bedroom, rubbing his wrist a little with his fingers. He reached out and pushed the door shut behind them. For a second Craig wondered if he'd been too hard after all. "What are you going to do!?"

"Stop," Craig echoed thoughtfully. "Yeah. I'm not gonna know the difference, unless you say something else. That's how this goes, right?"

Tweek parted his lips, but whatever he was going to say died on them-- or maybe he was just speechless to begin with, unable to find the words to process what he might've been feeling. "'Red light' usually works?" he finally offered, actually sounding a bit shy.

"Okay. We'll use that." Craig sat on the edge of Tweek's bed. "Now take all your clothes off." He didn't sound commanding at all to his own ears; he might as well have told Tweek to close the window. Craig winced internally, but he already knew he wasn't going to be good at this. Tweek, however, seemed to be into it. He tugged and pulled at everything until they were a heap on the floor and he was entirely naked, pale and waifish yet strangely and wholly masculine in that way of his, the way Craig remembered him.

"Like this, sir?" He was actually stifling a grin.

"Ugh," Craig replied. "Don't call me that. I'm not ready for it." He snapped his fingers once and pointed to the space beside him on the bed. Tweek's breath actually hitched, Craig could hear it, and then Tweek was moving toward him.

Craig pulled his hat off and set it on the night-table. He never wore it during sex.

"I'm not giving you what you want," he said quietly, but with a sudden strange conviction. "You don't even deserve my dick right now."

"I don't?" Tweek reached over and rubbed at the front of his jeans. Craig lifted his hand, hesitated, and then slapped Tweek's fingers away. No, he couldn't do it: he probably would never be able to slap him in the face. But that was okay. Craig already knew what he wanted to do with him.

"No," he said a little more firmly. "You don't. You've been an asshole to me, so you're not getting it. Not tonight."

Tweek whimpered a little, reaching for Craig's shirt, smoothing his hands down his chest before grabbing the hem of it. Craig startled at that, and reached down to smack his hands away a second time.

"Stop it."

"But I missed it!" Tweek sounded a little plaintive. "I missed your cock so much, please...!" It probably would have been downright hilarious in some other context, because that sounded so unlike what he'd expect to hear out of Tweek's mouth, but Craig was actually getting turned on and so it just sounded hot. He grabbed Tweek's hair, roughly, and felt his cock twitch when he moaned in response.

"Too bad," Craig replied. "Now lie down here." With his fingers twisted firm in Tweek's hair, Craig pulled on him, guided him down onto his belly and then over his lap. Tweek was shaking as Craig silently appraised his back and ass; he had to steel himself against running his fingers down the familiar notches of Tweek's spine, or the flat planes of his shoulderblades. He did, however, allow himself an indulgent squeeze of Tweek's ass.

" _Nnh -_ " Tweek whimpered. It was the perfect balance, although Craig didn't really make a habit of judging asses. His experiences were just that: spending time with boys who were attractive to him in a variety of aspects, but Tweek might have actually been the first person to make him salivate on sight, emotionally just as much as physically. His ass was fleshy and smooth and still a little bony, but Craig found that strangely delectable, like everything else. He felt Tweek's hard cock against his thigh.

"You thought," Craig started, "I would let you get away with it." He brought his hand up and slapped Tweek squarely on the ass, just once, the flats of his fingers snapping against it. Tweek gasped and trembled.

"Ah-- no, s-- no!"

"You really thought, after everything, you could just walk away." Craig struck him again. He was being careful at the moment, precise; it wasn't like he was an expert at this, because it was different now, focused. It wasn't like when he was in the middle of fucking him. But Craig knew that a gradual buildup would make this more effective. The noises of skin tapping skin seemed to ring through the bedroom, soft though they were, and Craig was grateful that no one else was apparently home.

"No, never!"

Craig wondered if Tweek really meant what he was saying, or if he was just getting into his place, reciting a role. He decided he didn't care either way.

Tweek's hands were pressed flat on the bed. Craig watched him slowly grip the sheets, tighter and tighter as his hand clapped down on that skinny little ass over and over. It rippled just a little, the fleshy portions, growing warm under his hand. Tweek squirmed and whimpered again when Craig paused after doling out a round of them, sweeping his palm over the skin. As if to tell Tweek to hold still, he grabbed one of his hips, but said nothing. It was leverage as he laid several more smacks over Tweek's backside, watching him rub his cheek against the sheets.

Tweek was starting to get quiet again.

Craig brought his hand up just a little higher, the sound of the slap cutting through the strange silence that was growing between them. Tweek jerked sharply, clearly startled, though he didn't make a sound.

"Stay with me," he said, trying to sound stern. "Not yet." He knew Tweek would find that place and slip away there--fuck, he _wanted_ to bring him to that point--but Craig wanted to keep him rooted here for as long as he possibly could. It felt like he was being abandoned, which was a little ridiculous, but this was still unfamiliar territory. He didn't want to be left wandering the desert by himself. "If you're still here, then say something."

"I am!" Tweek blurted out, his voice muffled into the bed. Craig pressed one of his hands over the width of Tweek's ass, who twitched just a little, and it was so warm. He wanted to squeeze it in his hands again, but refrained.

"You're always trying to leave." Craig wasn't sure what bid him to say that or what he was even referring to, but it didn't matter, because it was kind of true, and he had to bar the way. Somehow.

"It's not like that--" Tweek said, starting to lift himself up, trying to glance back over his shoulder. Craig reached out and pressed him back down.

"You can't look. Give me your hands."

Silently, Tweek thrust his hands backward at him. Craig couldn't believe he was actually about to do what he was doing, but he was taking off his belt, because he didn't see anything else-- and he wanted this. Tweek seemed to hear the ring of the buckle, because he suddenly looked like he was cringing.

"Don't look so scared," Craig said, looping his belt around Tweek's wrists in a way he'd learned during the break between them, and fitting it into makeshift handcuffs. Tweek relaxed the instant the leather touched him.

"It-- _ngh_ \--doesn't matter, because I didn't use the word!"

"So you get off on being scared, too," Craig remarked dryly. "I've been wrong about you all this time."

"No, not quite! You just surprised me!"

Craig fiddled with the belt a little, tugged at it, to make it as secure as possible. It wasn't perfect. Tweek could escape if he truly wanted to. He could have at any point.

"Where did you find that out?! The internet?"

"Yep." Craig nudged at him, taking his legs and guiding them into a kneeling position. Tweek seemed to get how he wanted him, because he shifted around and splayed his legs apart a little, shoulder pressed into the bed. He looked like a starving man about to be interrogated. Craig didn't know whether to be insulted or turned on. It was a little of both. "Yeah," he said, confirming a question neither of them asked. "Thanks."

Tweek averted his eyes, staring straight at the wall.

"So," Craig started. "You did this with anyone else in the past few weeks." It was a question that came out more like a statement, because Craig felt like he already knew the answer.

" _Ah_ \-- no!"

Okay, maybe not.

Craig moved up behind him so he could get full access. This was better, he quickly realized. Tweek could have easily stimulated himself lying across Craig's lap the way he was before, and Craig didn't want to allow that. This way, he was entirely vulnerable, ass lifted above bent knees, and Craig felt like his mouth was growing dry.

The fact that he was already critically analyzing these scenarios was deeply, deeply troubling to him.

"But you still won't consider my offer."

Tweek remained silent, though the little twitches of his torso indicated he was still paying attention, that he'd deliberately avoided the question.

Craig brought back his hand and struck him again. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Tweek close his eyes. He worked up another round of slaps, striking Tweek's ass back and forth, cheek to cheek. His charge made a little noise that wasn't quite a whimper, something of a soft hum. He'd stopped moving.

Craig was finding it easier and easier now to not say anything at all, to keep those doors closed. But there was something else that lay undisturbed between them, something that made him afraid to even breathe, as if it, too, would drift away from him.

Tweek seemed like he was asleep. He'd turned his head and pressed his face into the mattress again somewhere in the midst of Craig's slaps, his chest rising and falling slowly. For a brief moment, Craig suddenly wondered if he really had put him to sleep, that it was just this fucking boring and useless to him. Anger flared up in his chest.

"Tweek," he said, a little loudly. He hadn't stopped slapping him. It could have been therapeutic if he wasn't caught up in so much else, like his insecurities, because Craig almost forgot he was even still moving.

"I'm still here," Tweek answered, in that dully patient sort of tone he'd used on Craig before when Craig clearly wasn't understanding something, like it was fundamental and obvious. Maybe it was.

His skin had flared up hot under Craig's hands, redder than he'd ever seen. A few more strikes and Tweek was actually starting to come alive again, arching back into it, his thighs shaking.

"Now you like it," Craig remarked, but he didn't stop. And Tweek didn't say anything else. He was breathing heavier now, fingers clenching and unclenching in their flimsy bonds. Heavier and noisier, because he was starting to whimper and whine every time he exhaled, all of the muscles in his legs, his ass, tensing and releasing.

Craig drew his hand back and whacked him as hard as he could, and that was when Tweek... screamed, pretty much -- but it was muffled, like he'd just pressed his mouth as hard as he could into the bed, aware enough of his surroundings to hold that last shred of self-consciousness. Come was dripping down his thigh; it was immediately obvious.

Craig brought his hands down, staring for an indeterminate amount of time that felt like close to forever, but it was really not even a minute.

Tweek was lying very still, except that he was shaking hard from his orgasm, but when Craig ran a hand over his backside he jumped a little and gasped. It was like he was suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

"I'm not done yet," Craig felt the need to point out. "You're the one getting punished, so I don't see why you could get off and not me."

"Oh, _god_ ," Tweek whimpered, arching back. "J-jesus, Craig, I want to make you come-- please, just-- anything, you can have anything you want!" His hands twitched in their bonds, straining to reach further behind him. Craig couldn't stand it, he'd barely held himself together through the whole ordeal, and now he already felt like he was falling apart.

"You're still not getting my dick," he said, even though he was doing that very thing, sort of, unzipping and hauling himself out. It almost hurt to the touch. Craig arranged himself behind Tweek's ass, and, cupping his dick against his hand, pressed it up snugly between his cheeks. Tweek moaned, obviously thinking Craig was going to stick it in, but instead he pressed Tweek's thighs together and ground himself forward, rubbing off on him. It actually didn't take much at all, because he was a teenage boy, and because he'd been on the edge of desperation for so long, channeled elsewhere. He secretly hoped that the come that just splattered over Tweek's upper thigh would mingle with Tweek's own, somehow.

"Craig, Jesus Christ!" Tweek said, but Craig couldn't tell if he was flabbergasted or pleased.

"And scene."

"I'll do it!" Tweek suddenly choked out, collapsing onto his stomach. He let out a broken, involuntary cry and pressed his face into the bed before adding, "I'll go on a date with you."

Craig unraveled the belt from his hands and Tweek immediately sat up, flexing his fingers a few times and rubbing them over his wrists. He sniffled, his nose was pink, and his eyes were glistening, but nothing actually fell. In those vulnerable moments that tend to follow after an orgasm, Craig suddenly felt wrong again.

"It was just part of the act," he tried to play off. "You know you really don't have to."

"I want to!" Tweek said, perhaps a little too loudly, and then with a sudden surprising calm, "But I'll fuck it up somehow, I know I will." It seemed like the admission had taken a lot out of him--perhaps even more than the treatment itself--because he immediately looked exhausted, wiping at his eyes and lying down against the still-warm sheets. Exhausted, and content.

"Just come here." Craig reached for him. Tweek sank against Craig without argument, and in spite of the serious note he'd confessed on he was practically glowing, slipping easily through Craig's arms in a way that their fraternal sleepovers didn't quite touch. Craig cupped the back of his head the way he'd done since they were kids together, and Tweek closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against Craig's chest.

"I don't get how I'm supposed to punish you if you just enjoy it," Craig stated after a moment, sounding far more glum than he actually felt.

There was a puff of breath against his chest, probably a small laugh. "That's the point, man," Tweek answered drowsily, but he managed to pull one of Craig's hands closer so he could kiss his knuckles. That wasn't something he'd done before. "It just, mmh-- takes practice."

"Yeah," Craig replied, hooking his chin over his friend's shoulder. His crazy-ass, ridiculous friend who somehow managed to have him by the balls, heart and throat, and that was perfectly okay. They both knew it would be. "Practice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is such an embarrassing hot mess. :|


End file.
